Forever
by Keitorin Asthore
Summary: I promised I would love him forever, even if it was hard. He is my brother, after all. Oneshot. COMPLETE.


Untitled Danny Phantom Drabble

Disclaimer: Danny Phantom belongs to Butch Hartman and Nickelodeon, not me.

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I stifled a yawn and rubbed my cold hands together. One-fifteen in the morning, and Danny still isn't home. He has school tomorrow, and his grades are dropping enough on their own. Another glance out the window proves he's nowhere near the house.

I hate worrying. It makes my head ache and it gives me lines, but I have to worry. Danny's my brother, my baby brother. He's my responsibility.

When I was three years old, I announced to my parents that I wanted a baby to play with. A baby sister, to be specific. Every night I would kneel beside my little bed and beg God to send me a little sister to be my very best friend in the world. It's hard to have friends when your parents are ghost-hunters, you see. There's a certain prejudice you have to deal with.

It wasn't too much later when my parents sat me down for a little chat. The good news: a baby was coming. The bad news: it was a boy.

I was furious. With all the anger in my small heart I told God to take that little brother away. I didn't want him anymore. My mother was due in December- a Christmas present, everyone kept telling me. I didn't want that present. I wanted a little sister, not a nasty little boy.

But one day in October, my mother's sister picked me up from preschool and took me straight to the hospital. She didn't tell me much in the car on the way over there, just that my mommy was hurting but everything would be okay. But when I got there…nothing was okay. My father set me down in a waiting room chair and explained that the baby had come, but he would have to leave soon to play with the angels instead of me.

It had never dawned on me that the baby couldn't just "go away," that he would have to die. Daddy took me to see him in the ICU. That one glimpse of the tiny pale baby broke me. I didn't want him to go away anymore. I wanted him to stay with me. I started visiting after school every day, sitting outside the door of the ICU, waiting.

The baby wasn't named. He was so small and underdeveloped that his lungs hadn't finished forming. The doctors waited for him to die. My parents endured the agony of watching their youngest child struggle to breathe on a ventilator. But slowly, painfully slowly, he began to improve. He began to breathe on his own. He began to gain weight. He opened his eyes and wriggled around and made babbling baby noises.

On Christmas Eve my parents finally took him home from the hospital.

Daniel Lorcan Fenton, they named him. My father chose Daniel- a good Irish boy's name- but my mother chose Lorcan. It means "little fierce one." That described their small son, tiny but tough. Everyone just called him Daniel.

I was finally allowed to hold him after the Christmas Eve service. I sat in the big armchair, my green velvet Christmas dress pooling around me, and my mother placed the tiny baby in my arms. He was warm and snuggly with his soft baby-smell. His brilliant ice-blue eyes studied me drowsily. I studied my baby brother's piquant little face, memorizing his soft nose and silky eyelashes and sweet curve of his cheek. "Danny," I said. He hiccupped, smiling a dazed little grin as I brushed my lips against his cheek. "This is my Danny."

As Danny grew older, he became my shadow. First in his toddler stage- which unfortunately was filled with doctor visits and hospitals stays, as he still struggled with his underdeveloped lungs- and then as he reached preschool. It was my responsibility to walk him to his classroom every morning. He was painfully shy in those days, and self-conscious about his breathing problems. But he still made friends, especially with a bouncy African-American boy with a Gameboy clutched in his chubby fist and a little girl whose parents persisted dressing her in lace-trimmed dresses and ribbons even though by the end of the day the dresses were ripped and the ribbons lost.

Our parents left Danny in my care often. "The lab is no place for the baby; he might get hurt," Mom would explain. So I kept him entertained, helped him with his homework, made sure he ate dinner every night, tucked him into bed when our parents worked especially late. Every night, the same routine.

"Jazzy, read me a story."

I read a story.

"Jazzy, can I have some water?"

I got him a drink.

"Danny, you really have to go to sleep now."

A long, pouting pause.

"Do you love me now?"

"Of course."

"Will you love me when I'm old?"

"Yes."

"Will you love me forever?"

"I promise."

Then I would kiss him, and he would kiss me, and with the blankets tucked up to his chin and his rocket ship nightlight plugged in, Danny would fall asleep.

One night, when I was ten and he was seven, he announced he was too old to be kissed goodnight by his sister. "I'm growed up," he bragged.

So I stopped.

But sometimes, when it was cold or thunder made the house shake or I heard the frightened moans that would mean a nightmare, I would peek into his room. I would sit lightly on the edge of his bed and pat his back until he settled. Then, with a light kiss, I would whisper the same words in his ear:

"I love you now, and I'll love when you're old, and I'll love you forever. I promise."

With a sharp pop, Danny phased through the wall of my bedroom and collapsed on the floor. I dropped onto my knees beside him. "Danny? Danny, c'mon," I coaxed.

His eyes blinked hazily. "Ow…Jazz…" he whimpered. He winced, sucking in his breath sharply as my hand touched his side. His skin was icy cold.

"Lie still," I ordered. "Get out of ghost mode." He obeyed. His tee shirt was bloody and his jeans were torn. A black eye was rapidly rising. "Can you get up on my bed?" I asked. Danny nodded. "Change clothes and lie down. I'll get you something hot to drink."

My hands shook slightly. I keep telling myself I won't worry, but I can't help myself. The worry comes anyway. I poured hot water over the tea bag, squeezed it out, and carried it upstairs, grabbing the first aid kit on the way.

Danny was curled up on my bed, shivering. He'd managed to change into a pair of baggy flannel pajamas pants, but blood was still seeping through his shirt. "Let me see that," I ordered, setting the mug down on the nightstand. Danny hissed in pain as I lifted the torn fabric away from the wound. A four-inch gash sliced across his skinny side, dangerously close to his ribs. "Don't move. This'll sting."

"Ow!" he whined. "Jaaaaaazz, that hurts!"

"I just warned you that it would hurt." I dabbed the hydrogen peroxide against the cut. Danny squirmed and twisted away. "Hold still, Danny- hold still!"

"It hurts!" he wailed.

"Just a minute," I said. The bleeding stopped, and I wrapped a bandage around the wound. "There, I'm done." I touched my hand against his cheek. "Let me take your temperature, you feel warm."

"I'm okay now, Jazz," Danny said. I batted his hands away and slipped the thermometer into his mouth. He sat there, pouting. "Mi'm fmime, Jmazz!"

"You have a fever," I told him. "I told you so, kiddo. Lie down." Danny slid under the sheets, still pouting at me.

"I'm fine, Jazz, I'm…" Suddenly he flopped back on his pillows.

I smiled at him. "You're sick and achy and exhausted," I finished. "You can't fool me, Daniel Lorcan. You need to go to sleep, and you now have a valid excuse for staying home from school. I'll tell Mom tomorrow that you're sick."

"Jazzy," Danny said. "Can I have a drink?"

"Sure," I said, handing him the mug. He drank it down quickly, a little dribble of tea running down his chin. I wiped it away with my thumb. "You really need to get some rest now." I tucked him in snugly and switched off the light.

"Jazzy?" Danny said. "Do you love me now?"

I stopped in the doorway. "Of course I love you now, Danny," I said quietly.

"Will you love me when I'm old?"

I sat down on the edge of his bed again, and stroked his hair gently. "I will," I said.

"Will you love me forever?" he asked.

"I promise," I whispered. I brushed my lips against his warm forehead. He wrapped his arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. "I promise."

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**Author's Notes:**

I always wanted a little brother.

I love writing brother-sister stories. I have no idea why. I just think they're so much fun. And Jazz and Danny are so dynamic.


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